The Cinema Murder eBook

“You!” he murmured, as he took her arm
and led her to the door. “You could feel
all the sweetest and most wonderful things in heaven.
The writer’s knack is only a slight gift.
I put on paper what lives in your heart.”

She raised her head, and he kissed her lips.
For a moment he held her quite quietly. Her arms
encircled him. The perfume of her clothes, her
hair, her warm, gentle touch, seemed like a strong
sedative. If she said that he was safe, he must
be. It was queer how so often at these times
their sexes seemed reversed; it was he who felt that
womanly desire for shelter and protection which she
so amply afforded him. She patted his cheek.

“Now for our little walk,” she said.
“Open the windows and let out all these bad
fancies of yours. And listen,” she went
on, as they stepped out of the lift a moment or two
later, and passed through the hall towards the pavement,
“not a word about our own problem. We are
going to talk nonsense. We are going to be just
two light-hearted children in this wonderful city,
gazing at the sights and taking all she has to offer
us. I love it, you know. I love the noise
of it. It isn’t a distant, stifled roar
like London. There’s a harsh, clarion-like
note about it, like metal striking upon metal.
And the smell of New York—­there isn’t
any other city like it! When we get into Fifth
Avenue I am going to direct your attention to the
subject of hats. Have you ever bought a woman’s
hat, Philip?”

“Never,” he answered, truthfully enough.

“Then you are going to this morning, or rather
you are going to help me to choose one,” she
declared, “and in a very few moments, too.
There is a little place almost underground in Fifth
Avenue there, and a Frenchwoman—­oh, she
is so French!—­and all her assistants have
black hair and wear untidy, shapeless clothes and
velvet slippers. It isn’t New York at all,
but I love it, and I let them put their name on the
programme. They really don’t charge me more
than twice as much as they ought to for my hats.
We go down here,” she added, descending some
steps, “and if you make eyes at any of the young
women I shall bring you straight out again.”

They spent half an hour choosing a hat and nearly
two hours over lunch. It was late in the afternoon
before she dropped him at his rooms. Not a word
had they spoken of Sylvanus Power or their future,
but Philip was a different man. Only, as he turned
and said good-by, his voice trembled.

“I can’t say thank you,” he muttered,
“but you know!"...

The lift was too slow for him. He opened his
door with almost breathless haste. He only paused
to light a cigarette and change his coat and wheel
his table round so as to catch the afternoon light
more perfectly. Then, with his brain teeming
with fancies, he plunged into his work.